


Between the Shadow and the Soul

by sahiya



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Magic, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-19
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 11:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Initiative kidnaps Ethan to figure out what makes magic go <i>tick tock</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my own prompt in the [Giles H/C Ficathon](http://community.livejournal.com/tweedandtea/156087.html): Giles nurses Ethan back to health after the Initiative gets done with him. Thanks to [](http://firefly-124.livejournal.com/profile)[**firefly_124**](http://firefly-124.livejournal.com/) for the beta. Please note that this is set in the universe of [](http://antennapedia.livejournal.com/profile)[**antennapedia**](http://antennapedia.livejournal.com/)'s story [An Antique Roman](http://antennapedia.com/stories/ge_an_antique_roman.html). I suppose all you really need to know is that Ethan shows up again in S3 during "Amends" and ends up staying, but if you haven't read [](http://antennapedia.livejournal.com/profile)[**antennapedia**](http://antennapedia.livejournal.com/)'s story you really, really should, because it's brilliant.

Giles cracked another egg in the mixing bowl and let it drop from the shell. He tossed the shell into the rubbish bin under the sink and reached for the next egg, listening to Buffy chatter on about her psychology class. She perched on the stool at the kitchen counter, chin on her hand. She paused for a breath; he made a noise to indicate he'd been listening - he hadn't, really - added a dash of milk, some salt and pepper, and commenced whipping. She said, "Only two eggs? Don't Gileses have to eat, too?"

"I had cereal this morning."

"So? Second breakfast! This one of champions. Er." He could somehow feel her nose wrinkling, even though his back was to her. "Not that the breakfast is made of champions. It's a breakfast for champions."

"I got that, yes."

"Well, the point is, when you said, 'Would you like some eggs?' I sorta thought you'd be eating them, too."

He brought the bowl over to the counter so he could look at her while he whipped. "I don't mind making them for you. I like cooking and I haven't done it very often lately."

She frowned. "Should I be alarmed?"

He smiled, though it felt rather tight. "No. I just never see the point when it's only for me."

"Oh." She fell silent briefly. He'd sliced up some fruit and put it on a plate, hoping she would pick at it, just as she did now, picking up an orange slice and bending it so the peel came off the fruit. "Ethan not hanging around, trying to win you back?"

"Not the last few days." The eggs were whipped. He got out the cheese.

"No cheese," she objected through her mouthful of orange. "Too much fat." He glared at her, but she shook her head stubbornly and he put it away. She swallowed. "Probably better he isn't stalking you anymore," she said. "I mean, at some point the guy had to get the hint, right?"

"Indeed," Giles said, pouring the eggs into the heated pan, glad she couldn't see his face. Ethan had got the hint well enough. He just hadn't liked it. Neither had Giles, quite frankly, and having the man show up every time Giles showed his face in public had got wearing. At his favorite coffee house, at the magic shop, at the grocer's - all right, perhaps Buffy was more right than Giles wished to admit about the stalking. Still, it had been a nearly a week now since he had seen him; perhaps Ethan really had given up and . . . left. Giles frowned and used his spatula to scrape cooked egg off the side of the pan.

"You never did tell me what happened," Buffy said after a short silence.

Giles set orange juice out on the counter, along with two glasses. "No," he said repressively, pouring hers before his own. "I didn't."

"I mean, one day you guys were all - okay, I refuse to use the phrase _cute and coupley_, 'cause it's Ethan and you know how I feel about the guy -"

Giles refrained from muttering anything snide under his breath as he stuck two pieces of bread into the toaster and considered it an accomplishment.

"- and next thing I know he's living in a motel and you're doing your impression of Eeyore. What gives?"

Giles shook his head. He tilted the pan over Buffy's plate. The toast popped up; he tucked it onto the plate beside the eggs and slid it across to her. "Marmalade?"

"Yes, please. And ketchup." He gave her an appalled look. "Don't look at me like that, I know you've got it in there somewhere."

He set strawberry jam and a small bottle of ketchup on the counter. "Only because of you lot," he grumbled and came around to sit beside her while he drank his orange juice and she ate her eggs and toast. He looked away with a grimace to avoid seeing her drizzle ketchup all over her eggs.

She took a bite and hummed happily. "So much better than the dining hall's eggs," she said, swallowing and washing it down with some juice. "They use way too much oil. And don't think you can distract me." She pointed her fork at him. "You and Ethan. What happened? Not that there needs to be a reason," she added. "I mean, I thought you were nuts from the beginning."

"Yes, thank you." He picked at the fruit himself, the few blueberries she hadn't eaten already. "And I really would prefer not to talk about it, Buffy. I realize Americans feel the need to share everything, but some things are personal and this is one of them. Please, let's drop it."

"Okay, okay." She crunched into her toast. "Just trying to show an interest. Not like you've been Mr. Communication lately."

He wondered briefly what she would say if he told her the truth. Most likely it would be far more trouble than he wanted to borrow. "You're busy adjusting to university," he said instead. "You certainly don't need to be worrying about me." Though he liked that she did, occasionally. Very, very occasionally. She'd shown up that morning unannounced for the first time in weeks - for the first time in months when there wasn't something brewing and she didn't need his help. 'Quality Giles time' she'd called it and made herself at home at his counter.

It was nice to have someone else in the flat for a while; Giles had got used to having Ethan around and all the little things that went along with living with someone. His bed felt quite strange without Ethan warming the other side.

Heartache was a misnomer, Giles reflected. The ache was really more in the stomach area. God, he was being ridiculous.

And it had been a week now - a week tomorrow, at least - with nothing so much as a message on the answerphone. Good, Giles tried to tell himself. The point of ending a relationship, even when neither party was happy about it and in fact both were extremely unhappy about it, was not to continue the affair unofficially and indefinitely. Not that they had done, exactly; they'd fallen into bed together only once since Ethan had moved out, and it had been such an unmitigated disaster, the ensuing conversation so excruciating, that it had not happened again. Giles touched his ear, missing the slight weight of Ethan's earring. It lived in the drawer in his nightstand now, in its box.

It was foolish to be so maudlin about it. Neither of them was willing to budge and so there was nothing to be done. Giles could only hope that Ethan had finally come to his senses and left, though where he might have gone he didn't know. Perhaps back up to San Francisco, where he'd been living before moving to Sunnydale, or to LA, where the community of practicing wiccas and mages was larger and less inclined to actual evil. Or England. Ethan had been wanting to go back to England for some time now, at least for a long holiday.

In truth, there were any number of places where Ethan would be happier than in Sunnydale; Giles's refusal to leave, now that the mayor had been defeated and he was no longer Buffy's official watcher, had been . . . well, more a symptom than anything else. A catalyst.

Buffy was quiet as she finished her breakfast, using her toast to wipe up the last bits of egg and ketchup. "Thanks," she said at last, pushing her plate away. "That was yummy." He nodded. "So," she said, looking away, "okay, don't, like, snap my head off, because I hear you loud and clear, you don't want to talk about the Ethan thing, but are you okay? I know I made that joke about Eeyore, but it's kinda less of a joke than I'd like it to be, you know?"

Giles managed a smile. "I'm fine."

"You don't look it."

"Well." He set his glass on the counter and looked at it instead of her. "You've been through break-ups, Buffy, you know how they are."

"Yeah. But hey," she said, in the appallingly cheerful tone of someone about to point out a bright side where there was none, "at least Ethan didn't lose his soul and start killing all your friends. So that's a plus." He grimaced. She slumped. "Okay, that was less of a joke than I'd like it to be, too. Sorry."

"Perfectly all right." Giles sighed. "I do appreciate your concern, Buffy, truly. There just isn't anything you can do."

She nodded. "I sorta thought so, but," she shrugged, "I figured I owed you the effort." She slid off her stool. "Sorry to eat and run, but I have this huge English paper due tomorrow and I kinda haven't read the book yet. Rented the movie, though."

"Buffy -"

"Kidding, kidding," she said hastily. "But I gotta book - uh, in more ways than one. Tuesday, though, you wanna go running? I have class at eleven so I was thinking early-ish?"

He almost told her no - this was exactly the sort of thing she hadn't been interested in lately, and he didn't want her to start paying attention to him out of pity. On the other hand, it could only do her good to start training again, and he did have a lot of time on his hands lately. Would have even more, if Ethan were well and truly gone. He might as well take advantage of whatever good was going to come out of this fiasco. "Yes. Eight o'clock?"

"Cool. See you then."

He did the washing up and stood for a moment, leaning against the counter. Then he made a pot of tea, retrieved the novel he was reading from upstairs while it was brewing, and sat in his armchair with cup and book, listening to his silent flat. He'd got so used to having someone else there, just . . . breathing. It was really the little things that hurt: the earring, the silence, shopping for one instead of two. Whenever he and Ethan read together the man always had his feet in Giles's lap, quietly demanding attention as was his wont. He'd inserted himself into Giles's life as though he'd never left - but now it appeared he had.

It simply made no sense, Giles thought, fingers tightening on the book he wasn't reading. After weeks of - yes, all right, stalking, for Ethan to simply up and leave without any good-bye at all, much less the enormous dramatic scene Giles had been certain was inevitable, without even a forwarding address - it simply made no sense. Or perhaps that was wishful thinking. Giles had been firm enough, after all. Harsh, even. He could hardly blame Ethan if he'd decided to stop trying.

Still. Giles had broken up with Ethan before and he'd never left without saying good-bye. This made no sense.

He didn't let himself think about it - if he let himself think about it, his pride would surely win out. He set the book aside, stood, and picked up the phone.

Ethan's mobile rang four times and rolled to voicemail. Giles hung up. Then he gritted his teeth and hit re-dial. Four more rings, voicemail. "Hello, Ethan, it's me. I, er, was wondering where you are. Please let me know that you're - that you're all right."

He put the phone down and walked away.

***

White. Bright. Ethan slitted his eyes open and then squeezed them shut again. Whatever they'd dosed him with last time out had set all of his senses on high - it was quiet at least, but the light, the glaring, florescent light. Too bright. Too cold. The tile below him sucked all the heat out his body and he was freezing. He tried to move, tried to at least crawl out of the center of the cell where he felt exposed and vulnerable, but his muscles wouldn't obey. They twitched and cramped painfully. He shuddered and curled in on himself. He supposed he should feel grateful they'd left him his clothing, shredded though it was now.

The door to his cell slid open. Ethan tried to uncurl, but didn't get very far before four rough hands seized him, hauling him up and out, where they strapped him to a gurney. He let his head roll - it hurt too much to try and hold it up, and even through his eyelids the harsh overhead lights made the migraine, his constant companion for some time now, throb in time to his heart. They started pushing him down the hallway; the movement set his stomach to roiling, but he hadn't eaten anything in recent memory - Janus only knew what they put in the food.

They went up in a lift. Ethan drifted. Hopefully they'd knock him out soon - sometimes they did, sometimes they didn't. He thought about Rupert. Perhaps he'd realized by now that Ethan was gone; he didn't know how long he'd been missing, but he'd had five or six sessions with the men in the white coats with the hypodermic needles and the electrodes. Fried as his brain was, he had put the pieces together - this outfit was the same as the commando blokes Buffy had been running into on patrol. One of the few things Rupert had been willing to talk to him about lately. Military. Probably had a hilarious codename. Under other circumstances Ethan would have made up his own with which to amuse himself. As it was, he didn't care.

The gurney came to a halt. A light, brighter even than the others, was trained on his face. Ethan swallowed a groan and turned his face away, not that it helped.

"He's human," a voice said. A woman's voice, deep, authoritative. Not as horrified as Ethan might have wished.

"The boys caught him in the woods doing magic while they were out on patrol," another voice said, this one familiar - one of the white coats.

The woman sniffed in skepticism. "Magic."

"That's what I said. We've been trying to determine for some time what it actually is - I suspected manipulations of an electromagnetic field, though how they do it I have no idea. The boys brought him in, and we've spent the last week gathering data. Here."

"Hmm. Not very conclusive or useful. Have you been able to get anything out of him?"

"He was too combative. We had to keep him under most of the time."

"Well." There was a sharp sound, as of a binder being snapped shut. "Probably for the best. Are you applying to extend his stay? The higher ups won't much like it. Ethics and all that."

"Far as I'm concerned, once they start playing with _magic_," the man obviously sneered, "they've allied themselves with the demons. But no, I decided it wasn't worth the paperwork. We'll dose him again and dump him on campus. He won't remember a thing."

Bloody hell. Ethan struggled to pull the scattered pieces of his mind together, but the migraine made it impossible. Not to mention the muscle cramps and the nausea. He'd never been any good at mind-magics, anyway, they required far too much orderliness. One had to be careful, and doing it on oneself was particularly tricky. A deep meditative state was recommended. No chance in hell. Literally, perhaps.

Too late. The gray hovering at the edges of his vision darkened. The memories leaked away into nothingness. Gone. Then, from somewhere beyond, he felt a sharp pain in his arm and the gray spun inexorably into black.

He woke on the ground. Dark. Cold. Not raining, but wet, foggy. He thought about moving and realized he couldn't. His limbs wouldn't obey and his head felt as though it weighed a hundred pounds. Lights flickered in and out of his vision. He felt wretchedly sick and his muscles were twitching and aching like the aftershocks of a bad cramp. It had been entirely out of his usual area of expertise, true, but such a simple ritual; could it have gone so terribly wrong?

He lost the battle to stay conscious. When he woke the second time, a vampire had him by the front of his shirt and was snarling into his face.

Ethan struggled, twisting his head away, but all that did was expose his neck. He beat feebly at the thing's wrists, but its grip was hard and Ethan already felt like he was dying. Maybe he was and he should thank the damn thing for hurrying matters along. He didn't much feel like thanking it. He'd brought a stake to the ritual, of course - no fool he, to sit alone in the woods at night in Sunnydale unarmed - but he couldn't reach it. Its fangs sank into his neck - Ethan managed a strangled gasp at the pain and the utterly bizarre sensation of his life's blood being sucked out of him - and then an involuntary one, rather louder, when the thing dropped him.

It spat on the ground. "Yech," it said, wiping its mouth on the back of its hand.

"What yech?" its companion asked. "You're letting perfectly good blood go to waste. If you don't want him -"

"Don't, there's something wrong with it. It tasted like chemicals. Damn, now I need a virgin to wash my mouth out with."

"Better hit the fresher dorms, then." The companion toed at Ethan. Ethan flinched away and immediately wished he hadn't when all his muscles seized. The vampire laughed and did it again, much harder this time, a full-on kick to the ribs. Ethan felt something go _crunch_ but managed to control his moan. The next blow landed on his stomach and he twisted, retching. The two of them laughed. Ethan lay face down in the dirt and wished the vampire had finished him off after all.

"We could have some fun with him," the second vampire said. "Find a place to keep him. His blood might be dirty, but my sire used to say there's more than one way to skin a cat. Literally. This one time he totally -"

It never got to say what its sire had done. It exploded suddenly in a death scream and a shower of dust that would have made Ethan cough if he'd had the breath for it. "God, vamps," said an oh Janus be blessed gratingly familiar voice. Ethan had never thought he'd be so unutterably glad to see Rupert's slayer. "They just never shut up about their sires. My sire this, my sire that. I bet my sire could beat up your sire. How about you? Wanna tell me about your sire?"

"Slayer," the vampire snarled.

"You'd think you'd all have learned my name by now," Buffy said with an exaggerated sigh. Ethan wondered if he should try and crawl away to avoid being tripped over in the fight, but judging by the noise she was drawing the vampire away from him anyway. He heard them trading blows, Buffy continuing to chatter in that way that drove Rupert mad because he was convinced it'd get her killed someday. "'Course, maybe that's because I tend to kill you all shortly after introducing myself. Sorta like this. Buffy Summers, nice to meet you." The vampire screamed the last of its unlife away.

Silence. He heard Buffy catching her breath, a quiet slap of stake against palm as though she'd tossed it and caught it, and then her footsteps approaching. "Hey. You okay?" She turned him over. Her face blocked out the swathe of sky overhead. She stared down at him, eyes widening. "Oh my -"

"Hello, Buffy," he managed with a smile, and then he passed out.

***

Giles was dreaming, and aware he was dreaming, about being lost in the Underground with Ethan. They were trying to get from Euston to Shepherd's Bush, but the Central Line was closed between Marble Arch and Queensway. They were standing in front of a map, arguing, and what had started out friendly had grown acrimonious. A phone started to ring - Giles ignored it, he didn't have a mobile - but it just went on. Ethan threw his hands up in disgust. "You'd better answer that," he said, turning away. "It's probably Buffy."

Giles woke, but the ringing continued. He stumbled to his feet - his book fell from his chest to the floor - narrowly avoided breaking a toe on the coffee table, and grabbed the phone off the desk. "What? Sorry. Giles. Hello?"

"Giles, it's me." It was, in fact, Buffy. He blinked and rubbed a hand over his face, trying to wake up. "You gotta get over here."

He came awake instantly. "Are you hurt?" Her voice was strange.

"No, um, I'm fine. Giles," he heard her take a deep breath, "it's Ethan."

He broke all speed limits on his way across town and ran at least one red light as he squeezed out every last bit of speed the Citroen had to offer. He parked on the street across from her dorm and almost got run over by a car full of boisterous young men in his haste. He stopped and tried to remember to breathe.

Buffy was waiting to let him in the building. "That was fast," she said.

"How is he?"

"Still out cold," she said as she led the way up the stairs. She stopped when they got to the top and put a hand on his chest to keep him from going any further. "Giles, I just think I should warn you - he looks pretty bad. I mean, the vamp bit him before I got to it, but I think -" She bit her lip, hesitating. A worry line creased her forehead. Buffy was worried. About Ethan. Giles's stomach went cold. "I think something else happened to him. He's way thin, even for Ethan, and I noticed when I was carrying him home that his muscles were spasming."

Oh God. He should have known - Ethan would never have simply left town. He should have known something was wrong.

Buffy was looking at him, still waiting for him to answer. He managed to nod.

He was glad she had warned him; _bad_ was a bit of an understatement. Buffy had laid Ethan out on her bed and tucked a blanket over him. He was shaking, Giles realized as he sat beside him, but he was unsure if it was shivering or the muscle spasms Buffy had mentioned. He was deathly pale, ashen, in fact, with dark shadows under his eyes. Giles touched his fingers to the gauze taped over the bite in Ethan's neck. His pulse was much too fast, but steady.

He did indeed look very thin, his cheekbones prominent. His lips were cracked as well, as though he were dehydrated, and he smelled as though he hadn't bathed in days. There was patchy beard growth, all Ethan had ever been able to manage, on his chin and cheeks - silver mixed with the dark Giles remembered from Ethan's last ill-fated attempt at facial hair some fifteen years hence.

Giles brushed a hand over Ethan's forehead and looked up to find Buffy standing beside him. "You said you hadn't heard from him in a week?" she said, leaning against her dresser.

Giles nodded. "I thought - I thought he'd left." Giles put his head in his hands briefly and then straightened. "Buffy, thank you, I - thank you."

She shrugged. "Didn't know it was him at first."

"Still." Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose. He'd thought only of getting here; now that he'd arrived, he wasn't quite sure what to do next. "I suppose I should try and shift him home so you can have your bed back." Perhaps Buffy would come with him, just to get Ethan settled - except then he would have to drive her back and he was loathe to leave Ethan in this state. He'd just have to manage somehow. He slipped an arm beneath Ethan's shoulders and sat him up carefully. How was he going to do this? Ethan was much too tall and lanky for Giles to carry comfortably; he had no idea how Buffy had done it.

Ethan stirred and groaned just as Giles was thinking he should probably move the car so it was closer to the building. Giles exchanged a startled glance with Buffy. "Ethan?" he said.

Ethan made a strangled noise. Buffy dove for the bin under her desk with slayer reflexes and got it positioned just in time. Not that he had anything in him whatsoever to bring up, but he dry-heaved for what felt like forever to Giles and must have felt even longer to him. When he finally stopped, Giles eased him back down, palm cradling the back of Ethan's head. "All right?"

It was a few moments before Ethan had the breath to answer. "Cracked . . . ribs," he managed at last.

"I think that was the vamps," Buffy said. "They were kicking him around when I got there."

Giles grimaced. There was very little that was quite so unpleasant as vomiting with cracked ribs. "Just lie quietly, all right? Let me take a look at you. Er." He looked at Buffy. "I'm sorry, but -"

"No problem," Buffy said. "I was gonna hit the library anyway to work on that paper, and Will'll be with her wicca group till late. Just let me grab my laptop."

She gathered her things up, moving carefully and quietly around the room. Giles sat with his head bowed, one of Ethan's hands grasped in both of his. He should have known, he thought again, and then: No. He had known, somewhere in the back of his mind. And he'd done nothing.

Buffy touched him on the shoulder and he looked up. "I'm taking off. The door locks automatically when you shut it. Um." She handed him a bottle of Gatorade. "He looks like he could use it. There's more in the fridge. You'll let me know whose ass needs kicking?"

Giles dredged up a smile for her sake and nodded. Ethan's eyes opened, just the slightest bit, and he said, voice raspy and thin but filled with reassuring irony, "Why, Buffy. I'm touched."

"Don't be," Buffy shot back. "Just so we're clear - I still don't like you."

Ethan made a little "perish the thought" gesture with the hand Giles wasn't holding. The door clicked softly shut behind her.

Giles thought about speaking, but didn't. He didn't want Ethan to feel interrogated and so thought it would be best to let him decide when he was ready to speak. He offered Ethan sips from the bottle of Gatorade, which he accepted with a grimace, and touched him gently in between, holding his hand or stroking his hair.

Just as Giles was starting to think he would have to say something after all, Ethan sighed and said, "Before you ask, I don't remember."

Giles frowned. "Anything?"

Ethan closed his eyes. "White, bright light. Pain. Think they drugged me."

Giles pounced. "They?"

Ethan shook his head. Giles turned the bedside lamp on, which made Ethan flinch, and checked his pupils; they were even but widely dilated. He must have been right about the drugs, then, and he was probably still feeling them, or at least the after effects. Hence the vomiting. He turned the lamp off and stroked Ethan's hair back from his forehead.

Ethan turned his face into Giles's palm and kissed it. "How long?"

Giles let out a long breath. "A week, I think. I - Christ, Ethan, I thought you'd left. I didn't even bother calling your mobile until yesterday. What's the last thing you remember?"

Ethan's lips moved against the inside of Giles's wrist as he spoke. "Went up into the hills to do a working - place of power up there s'not too dark. Didn't want to risk it going badly."

Giles was aware of the spot. He'd never used it himself, since most of the magic he did was spur of the moment, necessitated by whatever the hellmouth had thrown at them. Ethan, on the other hand, preferred castings that took time, effort, and ceremony, and therefore tended to seek out such places. Sunnydale was too volatile to have many of them; Ethan usually went further out of town. "What were you doing?" he asked, trying not to sound too disapproving.

The ironic look Ethan gave him made him think he hadn't been terribly successful. "Nothing."

"Ethan."

Ethan looked away. "I asked for . . . guidance. Wanted to know what to do about us. If I should stay, if I should go."

Giles raised his eyebrows and did not bother to keep the incredulity out of his voice this time. "And so you asked for guidance from _Janus_?"

"S'worked before," Ethan said, apparently unperturbed, or perhaps simply too strung out on whatever was floating around in his blood to be properly annoyed that Giles had insulted his god. "Think they took me then, before I'd even got very far. If he gave me an answer, I don't remember it. More's the pity," he added in a mutter, eyes drifting shut once more.

Giles sighed. "Let's not worry about that for now." He lifted Ethan's head up for another sip of Gatorade, then capped the bottle and set it on the nightstand. "I'm going to unbutton your shirt, all right? I want to take a look at your ribs." Ethan nodded. Giles set to work, trying to keep his touch clinical. "Where else do you hurt?"

"Head," Ethan murmured. "Awful migraine. Lights going off, ungh. Stomach. Chest. Muscles were cramping before but s'better now. And," he added with a sigh, "I'm terribly high and not in a good way."

Giles paused and brushed his knuckles against Ethan's cheek. "Everything's all right now."

"''Cept I can't remember who did it. Or why. Don't know if -" Ethan swallowed "- if they'll be back."

"Hush," Giles murmured, easing Ethan's shirt, which was more shreds than anything else, away from his chest. "I'm here. You're -" Giles broke off. He had to bite his lip to keep from swearing and could not prevent himself from letting out a hiss. There was a darkening bruise on the left side of his rib cage where the vampire had kicked him, but what made Giles clench his teeth in anger was Ethan's chest. It had been shaved, it seemed, and was dotted with angry red welts - small, round burns, though much of the skin was simply red, irritated.

Ethan looked down at himself. "Oh dear," he said faintly.

"Watch your eyes, I'm going to turn the lamp on." Ethan shut his eyes and turned his face away. Giles peered at the burns in the extra light and managed to contain his gasp. He gripped a handful of bedclothes with in one hand. He suddenly wanted to hit something but didn't wish to alarm Ethan.

This wasn't a demon. Demons didn't use electrodes.

"Rupert?" Ethan asked, squinting up at him.

His pupils were too dilated for the lamplight. Giles switched it off. "I think I can treat those better at home. Or do you need to go to hospital?" Ethan shook his head. "All right, then. Let's try sitting up. Slowly."

It took them forever to get up and out of the room; thank God the building was a newer one with a lift. The walk across the street to the Citroen was easier than the walk down the hall had been. Ethan still leaned heavily on Giles but didn't weave as much. The cool night air seemed to wake him up. By the time they reached the car, Ethan was trembling and his face was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, but at least they'd got there. Giles bundled him into the front passenger seat and tilted it back.

Neither of them spoke on the drive home. Giles glanced at Ethan now and then, checking on him; he faded in and out, eyes fluttering open and then drifting shut again. He came fully awake when Giles parked and was already trying to sit up, wincing, when he came around to help him out. "How are you?" Giles asked as they shuffled slowly past the fountain.

"Less high," Ethan said, leaning against the house while Giles fumbled his key out, "but my ribs hurt more. And my head. Think I'll manage not to sick up on the carpet."

"The carpet thanks you," Giles said, pushing the door open and offering Ethan his shoulder again.

Once inside, Giles paused, considering. Ethan leaned his head on his shoulder. Giles could smell old sweat and days of it on him, and blood and pain and other unpleasant things. His hair was lank and greasy. "What would you think of a bath?" Giles asked him. "It would help your headache and I think you'd just feel better." Ethan nodded wordlessly.

By the time the bath was run and Ethan was soaking, Giles was starting to worry about how quiet he'd gone. He knelt on the rug by the bath in the darkened room, gently sponging Ethan's chest and neck by the light from the hallway, and wondering if he should keep him talking or just let him drift. He hadn't wanted to give him any prescription painkillers, as he didn't know what they'd given him; he was probably just exhausted and hurting, in which case forcing him to talk wouldn't do him any good. Giles hummed "Box of Rain" under his breath and was rewarded when Ethan smiled faintly.

He put Ethan to bed in the loft with minimal fuss, several paracetamol, and the last of the Gatorade. Then Giles sat beside him with the antibiotic cream for the burns. Just Neosporin tonight, but tomorrow he'd see about a healing spell or herbs from the magic shop to nudge things along. Willow might be able to help.

Gradually he shifted from rubbing the salve in over the burns to just touching Ethan lightly. Ethan sighed. His voice, when he spoke, was deep and drowsy. "Are you going to be daft and sleep on the sofa?"

Giles shook his head. "No." He changed for bed and crawled in the other side, wrapped himself carefully about Ethan whilst avoiding his chest. He brushed his lips against the back of his neck and closed his eyes.

He didn't sleep, though, not even when he felt Ethan drift off in his arms. He'd pushed the anger aside for a time, but now it came bubbling up. Humans. Whoever had done this to Ethan had been human, if only in the loosest sense of the word. That made Buffy's offer to kick its arse, appreciated though it was, complicated and ethically murky. But at the moment, Giles didn't much care; if some group was targeting other humans, sorcerers specifically, it appeared, then something had to be done.

Even if that meant he would be the one to do it.


	2. FIC: Between the Shadow and the Soul, Part 2/2

Ethan dreamt of endless florescent hallways, white lab coats, and men in green. He dreamt he was a rat in a cage, cringing in on itself; there were rats to either side of him as well, but he was alone. They came for him, hauled him out, wired him up, shot him up with things that burned. No sound, like a muted telly; he couldn't even hear himself breathing, not until he gasped himself awake in Rupert's empty bedroom.

It was such stark contrast from the dream that for a long moment he couldn't comprehend it. Sunlight streamed in the window and a bird chirped in the tree just outside. Noise. Natural light. He tried to hang onto the dream, muttering to himself until Rupert appeared in the doorway bearing a tray with toast and tea. It seemed Ethan was going to get the full invalid treatment. This would have embarrassed Rupert. Ethan, on the other hand, had no problem taking full advantage. Or wouldn't, once his heart stopped pounding enough for him to enjoy it. He felt he deserved to be fussed over a bit, and if Rupert was offering he would certainly not say no.

"All right?" Giles asked, setting the tray on the nightstand. Toast, tea, and Percocet, oh Janus be praised. Breathing felt like fire all along his ribs. His head ached, but the migraine was gone; he suspected thorough hydration would help with what remained.

Ethan nodded. "Dream," he said shortly and reached for the tea. All he'd had last night was that dreadful sports drink Rupert had poured down him.

Rupert handed him the bottle of pills, already open. Ethan took one sip just to sluice out his mouth and washed a pill down with the second. "Did it help you remember anything," he hesitated rather delicately, "specific?"

Ethan squinted. "Maybe. Bright light."

Rupert went instantly into watcher mode. "What sort of light? Natural or -"

"No." Ethan sipped his tea. "Artificial. Florescent, I think. Like a hospital or a -" He stopped.

"Ethan?" Rupert prompted after a moment.

"Or a laboratory," he finished. He looked at Rupert and felt his heartrate and breathing immediately quicken. "I think - Rupert -"

Rupert moved closer on the bed and took both of Ethan's hands in his. "Shh, it's all right." Ethan nodded, squeezed his eyes shut, and concentrated on the warmth of Rupert's hands surrounding his own until he felt the incipient panic attack subside. Behind his eyelids he could see shapes from his dream, just beyond the limits of perception. He opened his eyes.

Rupert was frowning at him in rather touching concern. "Please, don't - don't hurt yourself trying to remember. If you've suppressed the memories there may be a, a reason. I wouldn't -"

"Men in green," Ethan said, almost before he'd realized he was going to. "There were - I'm almost certain it was a laboratory, and there were men in green. I don't know anymore, I don't -"

Rupert still held his hands but he looked abstracted already. "Men in green - do you think - Buffy's commandos?" His hand clenched briefly and then released.

"Perhaps," Ethan said, carefully neutral. He turned his mind away from the dream and the strain of remembering in favor of studying Rupert covertly while he sipped his tea and ate his toast, very slowly. Most people would not have been able to read past Rupert's schooled, blank expression, but Ethan had practice enough in the fine art of reading Rupert Giles to know that Rupert was furious. Perhaps this shouldn't have surprised him in the slightest; together or apart, he and Rupert were each other's oldest and closest friends. But lately things had been different. Fists and accusations and recriminations Ethan could handle; cold rebuffs were something else altogether. They were what had driven him up to the hills that night, to build his fire and call on Janus. To try and figure out what the bloody hell he was supposed to do now.

When the chips were down, though, it didn't matter. When Ethan needed him, Rupert was there.

Ethan realized he'd stopped eating and was simply staring. Rupert's eyes softened despite the fury legible in the way he held his shoulders and flexed his hands. "Eat your toast," he said quietly and brushed his knuckles over Ethan's cheek. Ethan remembered the gesture from the night before and felt something clench, low in his stomach. "More tea?"

"Yes, please," Ethan said. Rupert took the cup and tray and went downstairs. Ethan nibbled, but his appetite had fled as the Percocet kicked in. He was thirsty, not hungry. He pushed the plate aside and lay back, watching clouds scuttle slowly by in the mostly-blue sky he could see through Rupert's window. Minor miracle that there were clouds at all today. Southern California and its never-changing weather. Ethan would never admit to any emotion so helplessly parochial as love for the land of one's birth, but he missed England. Missed gray skies and rain and hills that were never brown. Missed the varying accents, the food, even the sheep.

He needed a furlough from the hellmouth. So did Rupert, but he wouldn't take one.

"Choose me, just once," Ethan had said that night. Rupert had shaken his head and walked away.

The front door banged opened and slammed shut. Only Buffy blew in so carelessly. Think of the devil. Ethan grimaced and rolled over, burying his face in Rupert's pillow. One morning with Rupert was all he wanted. One morning spent being coddled and caressed by Rupert after a week of, apparently, being tortured by army commandos out for - what?

Magic, probably. What made it all go _tick tock_. Evidence would suggest they'd not figured it out, for which Ethan was grateful. Though Janus only knew what might happen if they decided they'd let their guinea pig go pre-emptively - at least, he assumed they'd let him go. He doubted he could have orchestrated an escape in the condition he'd been in last night. Ethan slipped down under the blankets and listened to Rupert and the cheeky slayer's indistinct voices through the door and down the stairs. He wondered if he'd feel safe anywhere in Sunnydale but here, in this bed, ever again.

Not that he'd ever felt safe, precisely, on the hellmouth, nor was he particularly attached to feeling safe. Still. There was a difference between the demon of the week, the normal risks one ran as a sorcerer of no small skill who had a watcher for a lover, and being kidnapped and tortured by a government agency. That furlough seemed increasingly sensible, with or without Rupert. If he went without Rupert, though, it would be more than a furlough.

He'd thought at Christmas, not even a year ago now, that surely this was the last time. He and Rupert had always had the flavor of destiny about them, but perhaps Ethan had got it wrong. Perhaps all they were destined for was to break each other's hearts time and again, until one of them finally walked away for good.

He heard Rupert on the stairs to the loft. Ethan pushed himself up against the pillows in an effort to look a bit less pathetic. Rupert appeared bearing a pot of tea on the tray this time, with a little silver pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar. He set it on the nightstand again and poured Ethan a cup. It was excellent tea, the sort Rupert bought imported from England and hoarded. Ethan sipped. Homesickness was a terribly foolish sentiment, he told himself; he'd been living abroad since long before he'd come to Sunnydale for Rupert. It wasn't as though he had any family to miss, even. He had to hope it was the Percocet speaking.

Rupert sat beside him on the bed. "I've some errands I need to run. Buffy said she would stay with you."

Ethan raised his head incredulously. So much for his morning spent being coddled. What could Rupert possibly have to do that was so urgent? "I don't need a baby-sitter," he said, trying to sound dry and ending up rather more in the region of petulant. He especially didn't need that particular baby-sitter.

"Ethan. Humor me, please. There's quite a bit we don't know about what happened to you."

Ethan glanced at him, a bit sharply; there was a rather peculiar tension in Rupert's voice that gave the lie to his story about errands. Rupert looked back at him with deceptive mildness from behind those spectacles of his. But then Ethan caught sight of Rupert's ear and whatever he'd wanted to say vanished.

He reached up and touched Rupert's earlobe, pale, smooth except for the small, empty hole. He'd not noticed last night. Not for the first time, Ethan thought that perhaps Rupert had come to his realization about destiny rather earlier than Ethan had and decided that if one of them had to be the one to walk away, it might as well be him.

Rupert caught his fingers and lowered them to the bedspread. "Eth. This doesn't change anything." He looked down at their hands, turned Ethan's over, and stroked the palm with his thumb. "You know how I feel about you," he said at last, "but I can't - my duty is with Buffy, for as long as she - she -" He didn't finish the sentence, simply petered off into sad, awkward silence. Ethan clenched his teeth on the arguments he'd made dozens of times already. They never did a damn thing. After a moment Rupert leaned down and pressed his lips to Ethan's forehead. "Get some more rest, all right? I'll be back before lunch."

Ethan didn't answer. He turned his face away and Rupert simply left. He heard him say something to Buffy and then the front door closed. Ethan finished his first cup of tea and was in the middle of pouring himself another, carefully because his hands were shaking and his head was woolly from the painkillers, when he heard Buffy climbing the stairs.

Bloody hell. Just what he needed. Ethan let his head fall back against the headboard with a dull _thump_.

She knocked. Ethan sighed. "Come in," he said.

She eased the door open and stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, looking just as uncomfortable as he felt. Good. "Hey," she said.

"Hello," he said, lifting his cup of tea to her in an effort at his usual irony.

"You feeling better? Giles said you were."

"Then I suppose I probably am."

Buffy frowned, just a little. "You need anything?"

"No, thank you."

"'Kay. I'll just -" She gestured down the stairs. He nodded. She turned to go, paused, and then turned back. "Um. I probably shouldn't say anything, but . . ." She bit her lip. "He misses you. A lot."

Ethan almost laughed. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just thought - hey, you know what? I'm trying here."

"And I can't tell you how it's appreciated."

Her face flushed and she glared at him. "Look, I don't know what happened with you two, all right? I've been trying not to make assumptions about it either, which, considering that the first time I met you you tried to feed me to a demon, I personally think I should get some credit for. But you - you -" She threw her hands up in the air. "God, I don't know why I bother."

Ethan eyed her, considering his options. One more snide remark and he'd be rid of her for the rest of the morning. It was really the responsible thing to do, all things considered; she could go on, blithely unaware of the effect she had on Rupert, and eventually Ethan would leave and Rupert would go back to his previous monkish existence. That was how she liked him best: sexless, bloodless, and tweed-clad. She was turning away already. All Ethan had to do was let her go.

"Would you like to know what happened?"

She stopped, turned back, crossed her arms over her chest. "I think if Giles wanted me to know, he'd tell me himself."

Ethan smiled thinly. "That is undoubtedly true. Would you like to know? One time offer."

She wavered, guilt warring with curiosity. Ethan sipped his tea and waited for her to finish rationalizing. "All right," she said at last, stepping to the foot of the bed, her arms still crossed over her chest. "Tell me. What happened?"

Ethan set the cup down on the saucer and cradled both in his hands. "You."

Her eyebrows shot up. "What? No. No way. You can't pin this on me. I haven't said a word about you in _months_." He raised his eyebrows placidly. "Okay, okay, days," she amended, squirming. "But it wasn't anything more than I've said a million other times. He never listens."

"True," Ethan said, nodding, "the two of you are quite skilled at ignoring whatever the other one says." She opened her mouth to protest, but he sailed on through. "But that isn't what I meant, more's the pity. That would be far easier. No, I'm afraid your mere existence is what threw a monkey wrench into the works."

She glared. "Well, I'm not gonna apologize for that."

"I'm not asking you to."

"Good." She fidgeted. "Okay, I don't get it. I mean, I've _existed_ all along, right? Why were things fine for ten months and then suddenly a lot with the not?"

Ethan shrugged, ignoring the pain this caused in his ribs. The Percocet deadened it anyway; the Percocet, in fact, was taking the edge off this entire conversation - for him, at least. "I suppose that was my fault, really. I assumed that since the mayor was no longer a threat and Rupert no longer your watcher, that I had the right to make more demands than I had heretofore. Much to my chagrin, I discovered that was not the case."

She seemed to mull this over. Ethan poured himself another cup of tea, though it was beginning to cool. "What kind of demands?" she asked at last, as Ethan had known she would.

He smiled. "I wanted to go to England for the summer."

Whatever she'd thought he would say, it clearly wasn't that. "Oh."

"He wouldn't hear of it. He was exhausted and clearly in need of a holiday, but he wouldn't hear of leaving you. Of course," he added, meeting her eyes unflinchingly, "you barely paid him any mind at all this summer, so by September I was quite annoyed, both with him and with you. Matters . . . escalated. And here we are. Do you get it now?"

She nodded, eyes wide. Ethan regarded her a moment; she looked guilty and a bit gobsmacked. Rupert would undoubtedly find out what he'd done and be displeased. He sighed, suddenly rather deflated, and said grudgingly, "I must admit, there wasn't much you could have done."

She didn't look as though she agreed, even as she said, "Guess not. Especially since Giles never _said_ -"

"Oh, but he wouldn't. Our Rupert never says a word. Thought you'd have sussed that out by now."

The guilty expression got even guiltier. "Um." He slid the cup and saucer back on the nightstand in lieu of commenting. "Do you need anything?" she asked at last.

"No, thank you."

She took the tea tray with her when she left. Ethan lay back and watched the patterns the patchy sun and the leaves on the tree made on the ceiling until he fell asleep.

***

The endless indian summer had cooled into autumn at last. Even a week ago, Giles reflected as he began the climb up into the hills from the car park, this hike would have been unpleasant on account of the heat, but this morning was brisk by Southern California standards. It was supposed to rain later in the week.

He paused after twenty minutes or so to catch his breath and get his bearings. He wasn't far from the spot Ethan had chosen for his ritual and he could feel a little tingle of power teasing at his own, drawing him in. He followed it north, along a ridge with a view of the university campus and then down a slight incline, where the tingle became a buzz, almost an itch.

The hills formed a sort of shallow bowl here with a massive oak tree at its center. Sunnydale tended more towards eucalyptus than oak and Giles thought it might be the only one within the town limits. He found himself slowing as he approached and then he paused before reaching out to touch it, hesitating strangely as though - as though he were waiting for permission. After a moment the hesitation eased and Giles reached out to lay both hands flat to the tree.

He felt energy. Old energy; this tree had been standing guard here for quite some time, keeping out evil whenever it tried to encroach. It had a memory of sorts, though nothing Giles could make sense of. Trees, after all, even magical ones, were not sentient, not in any way a human could understand. Still, it was pleasant to stand there with his hands on the tree in the cool morning sunlight; it was, in fact, a little like being in England, which was probably why Ethan had chosen to come here rather than any of his usual haunts.

He turned away. The oak couldn't help him figure out what had happened that night, or how to find and deal with those who had hurt Ethan. He found the remains of a fire at the bottom of the bowl - many fires, not just Ethan's. He crouched and shifted through the gray ashes, but nothing remained to help him there either. He stood, wiped his hands on his jeans, and hiked up the hill in the opposite direction. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he thought he'd know it when he saw it, and that it would not be anywhere near the place of power.

He hiked for almost an hour. It was pleasant, really, but the memory of Ethan, weak and shaking and ill, from the night before kept him from losing himself in it the way he might have normally. Perhaps this had been a fool's errand; he should come back after dark, not in the light of mid-morning with a fresh, autumnal smell in the air.

Roughly two miles from where he'd left the Citroen, he paused at the top of another ridge, this one overlooking the bank of fog obscuring the beach, and decided to turn back. Ethan had looked quite bereft when Giles had told him he was going out, and Buffy had class at eleven, assuming she and Ethan hadn't killed each other in his absence. It wouldn't do to keep either of them waiting.

He reached the oak tree and found himself with a strange compulsion to touch it again, to even - very odd - say good-bye. He did so and was just about to return to the path when he heard voices and pounding footsteps coming up the path from the same direction he had just come himself. Giles stepped around the tree and pressed his back against it. He counted; three or four people, jogging at a fair pace. They paused.

"This the spot Professor Walsh wanted us to check?" one of them asked. Young, male, not the slightest bit out of breath.

"Yeah." Another young, male voice. "She said the thing we grabbed here last week was a demon after all."

"Didn't look like a demon," a third voice said. "Looked human to me."

"Some demons masquerade as humans," the second voice said. "She wanted a sample from the site to analyze - you guys go on, I'll get it and run it back."

"I'm pretty sure she meant to bring it back after our run," said the first voice, sounding amused.

"Probably, but a bit sooner never hurt anyone. I gotta be back on campus in an hour anyway."

There followed some good-natured ribbing, but at last the other two took off, jogging up the path. Giles eased around the tree and saw a man, as young and earnest in appearance as his voice had implied, crouching at the remains of the fire, gathering ashes into a small plastic, resealable container. He wore army fatigues and a black vest. "Good morning," Giles said, keeping his voice as even as possible.

The man looked up and then abruptly stood, trying to shove the container into a pocket in the vest. "Oh, hey. You startled me - didn't hear anyone coming up the path."

"No. You didn't," Giles said pleasantly, coming to a stop just a few feet away. Arm's length, almost.

This appeared to give the man - boy, really - pause. "Nice morning for a jog, isn't it?" he said at last, smiling a bit uneasily.

Giles smiled back. The boy didn't see the blow coming until it connected with his jaw, laying him out flat on the ground on his back. It didn't knock him out, but it did stun him, enough to give Giles the temporary upper hand. He knelt, one knee on his chest, and gripped with one hand the pressure points in his elbow and with the other his throat, applying just enough pressure to stop his voice but not his breath. "No, please don't trouble to introduce yourself," Giles said, in the same pleasant voice as before. "Let me guess. You're a military outfit that hunts demons, but lately you've been branching out into humans - sorcerers. Am I correct?" He eased up on the pressure on the man's throat.

One rather wheezy breath and he said, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Giles increased the pressure just the slightest bit on the pressure point at his elbow, and transferred a couple kilos of weight to the knee on his chest. "Do let's pretend I'm not an idiot. You hunt demons."

"Yes," the man said, rather red in the face now, "yes."

"Excellent," Giles said, smiling in satisfaction. "So do I." He eased up. "I have no problem with that. What I have a problem with, sir, is where you kidnap and torture humans."

The low-simmering anger in the man's eyes flashed to fury. "We don't. You, on the other hand -"

"Oh, but you do. That 'demon' you and your brothers in arms were discussing just now was no demon."

"What do you know about it?" he demanded, struggling rather more than Giles liked. He tightened his grip on the man's throat until he stopped.

"A great deal more than you do." He leaned down. "You seem like a nice lad, so I'm going to give you some free advice. Know who it is you're serving."

"We kill demons," he repeated when Giles let him. "And if you're defending demons -"

Giles shook him. "You captured a human, you fool," he hissed, much more harshly, "because you're too stupid to know the difference. You captured him and then you tortured him. And if it happens again," he gripped hard at both throat and elbow and watched the boy's eyes widen in panic, "if it happens again, you will be sorrier than you can imagine. Tell that to your Professor Walsh."

The second blow did knock him out. Giles knelt back, stood and brushed himself off, then set off down the hill at a brisk pace. He felt better than he had in days; he didn't much like his violent side, but letting it out had its uses and tended to be cathartic.

In the car park at the bottom of the hill he paused, glancing up at the hills rising overhead. He needed to acquaint himself with a geologic map of the area. He would bet a great deal of money that once he had done, he would discover there was a natural cave system up there - a cave system that was now connected to something entirely unnatural. He gritted his teeth in grim satisfaction. Mission accomplished.

Buffy was sitting at the desk with a psychology text open in front of her when he came in, bottle of herbal salve from the magic shop in hand. "Hey," she said and then blinked. "Jeez, Giles, you have a nice roll in the dirt?"

He looked down at himself and realized his jeans were covered in mud and soot. "Never mind that. I went up this morning to where Ethan said he was taken."

She frowned at him. "Giles, that was dangerous. What if they'd nabbed you, too?"

He waved this away; strangely, it hadn't worried him at all at the time, though he supposed that perhaps it should have. "That isn't the point. The point is that I think I found the way in, or will, once I get my hands on some maps of the area. I want to do some reconaissance tonight." He dropped the salve on the desk and strode over to the bookcase, searching until he found the volume of cloaking spells he was after.

"No go, Giles."

He paused in the middle of turning a page. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean, yes, duh, I'll check it out, but no, you're not coming."

He shut the book with a loud snap. "And why not?"

"Because I want you to take Ethan and get out of town." He opened his mouth, but she beat him to it. "Don't, just - let me finish. We don't know what these guys are up to. We don't know why they took him, we don't know if they'll try it again, and I would just feel better if he wasn't here for awhile." She paused. "I think he would, too."

"He -"

"Plus." She reached over, took the book from him, and uncurled the fingers of his left hand to reveal his bruised knuckles. "I think you did a lot more than find the entrance to the Batcave this morning." She looked up. "That was stupid, Giles."

His jaw clenched briefly. "And where exactly are we supposed to go? It's the U.S. military, Buffy."

"How about England?" she said, very quietly.

He felt his jaw drop. "I'll kill him."

"Giles -"

"No, really. I'll kill him. He knows damn well not to interfere with us -"

"Giles, will you shut up a minute?" He did, shocked into silence by her tone. She paced away briefly, then turned back. "Look, it's not like I'm Ethan Rayne's biggest fan, which, I know, try to contain your shock, but - but I am a fan of happy Giles, and for whatever reason - whatever twisted, bizarre, weird reason that I _don't_ want to know about - he seems to make you happy. So." She shrugged.

He stared at her for a moment. "Buffy, I appreciate this, I do," he said at last, "but I cannot in all good conscience leave you with this new threat brewing."

She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Probably that's something you should have thought about before you went and punched out one of the commandos. Don't suppose you were wearing a ski mask or something when you did it?" He grimaced. "Didn't think so. That means you and Ethan need to get out of Dodge, pronto. Might as well be on a plane to the mother country."

His throat was suddenly terribly tight. It had happened at last, what he'd always feared and yet felt was inevitable. She'd out grown him. "I suppose it was only a matter of time," he said, when he thought he could speak.

"Whoa. No." She stepped over and grabbed his hands, startling him. She squeezed. "This is temporary, okay? This is the break you should've taken over the summer. I need a watcher, Giles. I need you. I'm not happy about telling you to go. But I can do this. I'll take care of the commandos and then you can come home. You and -" she pulled a face "- Ethan."

He looked down at where she held his hands in her own. "Oh."

"Yeah. Oh, whoops," she said, catching site of the clock. "I gotta book. Class." She squeezed his hands one last time. "I'll come back after I'm done for the day and we can talk more if you want, but I wanna see plane tickets. I'm serious, Giles. I'll feel better if I'm not having to worry about the two of you getting kidnapped and used as lab rats."

Giles had to admit that he would feel better, as well. "Yes, I - yes, perhaps that would be wise. I - I'll think about it, Buffy. Talk it over with Ethan. He might not even want me to come with him after - well, after everything."

"Giles, seriously." She slung her bookbag over her shoulder and gave him a look. "Don't be a doof."

He watched her depart at a jog, a bit faster than she usually chanced in daylight. He shut the door behind her and lingered at the bottom of the staircase for a moment, looking at the bruised knuckles on the back of his hand. Then he grabbed the salve off the desk and climbed the stairs to Ethan, stripping his jumper off as he went.

Ethan was sleeping, curled up in a patch of sun like a cat. Giles watched him for a few seconds, then folded his jumper and placed it on the chair. He unbuttoned his jeans and stepped out of them, tossing them in the hamper to be washed, then tugged back the covers on his side of the bed and slid in.

Despite his best efforts not to wake him, Ethan stirred. He yawned. "How were your errands?" he asked, sleepily but with a certain edge to his voice.

Giles kissed his forehead. "I'm sorry about that. I had something I had to do."

"Mmm. You feel . . ." Ethan paused. "Tingly. You went up there, didn't you."

It wasn't a question and Giles didn't even pretend not to know where _there_ was. "Yes." Ethan sucked in a quick breath. "It was fine. Information gathering, nothing more." For the moment, he elected not to mention the commando he'd run into. So to speak. "But I did go by the magic shop and pick up something to put on those burns." He held it up. "If I may?"

Ethan nodded. Giles sat up and unscrewed the cap on the jar. It smelled of honey and mint and something wilder that he couldn't name, something faintly like the oak tree had felt. He scooped a bit up in his hands and set about rubbing it into the burns on Ethan's chest. Ethan closed his eyes and sank back, once more resembling a contented cat being stroked.

At length, when it had turned into more of a massage and Ethan looked to be on the verge of falling asleep, Giles said, "I hear you spoke to Buffy."

Ethan's eyes opened. He eyed Giles warily. "Yes."

"She had an interesting suggestion."

The wariness increased exponentially. "Did she now. And what, pray tell, was that?"

"She suggested we go to England."

Ethan looked as though he were trying to find the catch. "Did she."

"Yes. Not permanently," Giles said hastily, before Ethan went and got the same idea Giles himself had, and thank goodness Buffy knew exactly how much of a "doof" he was, "just until she manages to get matters with these, er, commandos taken care of." Ethan nodded but said nothing. "I think," Giles took a deep breath, "I think it might be a good idea."

Ethan looked at him, face unreadable, even to Giles. He said nothing for a full thirty seconds, and Giles felt his heart sink. Too late. It was too little, too late. Ethan was going to be angry that Giles apparently had to wait for Buffy's permission - for her insistence - to make a decision like this.

"I don't know," Ethan said at last. Then he settled back into the covers and smirked, slow and sly. "I think I might need to be convinced. Er, carefully," he added hastily, glancing down at his chest with a wince. "But thoroughly."

Relief flooded him. Careful but thorough convincing. That, he knew how to do. Giles smiled and dropped his head to kiss the side of Ethan's neck and find the spot that always made him shiver. Ethan breathed in carefully and held very still beneath him. Giles kissed carefully up his neck and along the edge of his jaw; at the corner of Ethan's mouth he paused and pulled back, then nuzzled him gently. "Ethan," he murmured.

Ethan answered by kissing him. Giles sighed into the kiss and relaxed, stroking carefully down Ethan's side, avoiding the burns and the bruises as best he could. He stroked the dip in Ethan's hip until Ethan made a noise in his throat and threaded his hand through Giles's hair, pulling him down into the kiss. Giles felt his own arousal deepen, but since this was about convincing Ethan, he ignored it - or tried to, though he could not help pressing closer along Ethan's hip, seeking friction and warmth.

Giles had to take his hand away to grope for the salve, which he'd left opened on the nightstand. Ethan made a frustrated noise, almost a growl, and Giles gave a low laugh, muffling it in the curve of his neck. "Patience, patience," he admonished, turning onto his side and sliding his hand under the covers, but not reaching for him, not yet, just stroking back and forth slowly across Ethan's stomach. "Careful but thorough, right?"

"Sod that," Ethan said, reaching for the salve himself. Giles pulled it just out of his reach, teasingly, and enjoyed the way Ethan's eyes darkened. After a moment he lay back, watching Giles from beneath half-shut eyes. Giles smiled, satisfied, and dipped into the salve with his fingers, feeling the little tingle of magic he'd sensed earlier. It stoked his own arousal, just as he'd expected, and warmed quickly when he rubbed it between his hands. He nudged it back onto the nightstand, not wanting to waste any by spilling, and then lay down, hooking a leg in between Ethan's this time, hitching himself closer so he could feel Giles against him. Ethan's breath caught and quickened.

Giles kissed him and reached for him at the same time. Ethan gasped into his mouth and pushed into his hand. Giles hummed and tightened his grip, stroking slowly, almost lazily. They kissed with equal langour. Giles realized he'd missed this a great deal more than he'd known at the time; the one time they'd had sex since their break-up had been intense, but not tender, both of them angry and yet trying much too hard to convince the other to change his mind and stay - or go, as Ethan would have it. That particular combination hadn't made for very good sex, though at least it had lessened the actual temptation. Still, it had saddened Giles to think that was the last memory he would have of the two of them together that way.

This was something else entirely. Giles could tell they were being nudged along by the magic in the salve, which flared now and then. Giles was finding it difficult to keep still, and Ethan's hands gripped his upper arms with surprising strength. "Rupert," Ethan said, breaking a long silence punctuated only by his gasps and, more recently, low moans. "C'mere."

Giles had thought he'd never ask. He reached for the salve again and manuevered himself carefully over Ethan, mindful of his ribs and the burns. Ethan's hips thrust against his and Giles groaned. Ethan's fingers dipped into the salve and this time Giles didn't stop him. His fingertips trailed their way up his belly with its smattering of hair to circle and then pinch a nipple. Giles laughed and moaned at the same time. "Not - not hurting you?" he managed.

"Only if you decide to stop." Ethan's head fell back, exposing his neck. The gauze Buffy had taped over the bite had come loose. Giles paused, pulling it away altogether, and pressed his lips to it. Ethan shuddered beneath him and Giles raised his head.

"I came so close," Giles said hoarsely. Twice. No, three times. God.

"Hush," Ethan said, and reached his hand down to cover Giles's. He stroked them both, together, and now it was Giles's turn to shudder at the warm, slick slide, friction and magic sending a tingle up his spine.

It didn't take long then, not long at all until they were thrusting against each other, incoherent half-words and unfinished phrases and unwonted endearments mingling in the air like a spell Giles thought he could just barely glimpse the shape of. And then Ethan was shuddering beneath him again, eyes shut tight and head tilted back, and the expression on his face, the working of his throat as he gasped, pushed Giles over as well.

He was careful not to collapse against Ethan, but to the side. Ethan was a great deal less careful as he rolled over, slipping his knee between Giles's and tucking his head beneath Giles's chin. He needed a shave, but Giles rather liked the roughness against his skin, which was slightly more sensitive than usual in the wake of his orgasm. They held each other for long minutes, until at last Giles murmured in Ethan's ear, "How are you?"

Ethan closed his eyes, pressing close. "Glad your slayer has more sense than you do."

Giles pushed himself up on one elbow and raised his eyebrows at Ethan. "Am I hallucinating or did you just pay Buffy a compliment?"

"Absolutely not," Ethan sniffed. "I was insulting you, not complimenting her."

"Ah." Giles settled himself once more, vaguely relieved that the earth hadn't shifted on its axis after all. "I see." He lay his head down and closed his eyes, basking in the afterglow.

At least, until Ethan said, in a somewhat aggrieved tone, "Shouldn't you be buying plane tickets?"

Giles laughed, silently, into Ethan's neck. "Yes, I suppose I should. I'd planned on sleeping first. Unless . . ." Ethan gave him a look remarkably similar to the one Buffy had given him earlier. "All right, very well." He sat up on the edge of the bed. "Are you getting up?"

Ethan stretched, sprawling out diagonally across the bed. "Perhaps after lunch."

"Is that a hint?"

Ethan raised his eyebrows. "Do you remember the part where I was tortured by government agents and then almost killed by vampires? And where you're supposed to be orchestrating our get-away right this moment? Our _business class_ get-away," he amended, lips quirking up at the corners.

Giles rolled his eyes. He fetched his robe from the closet and shrugged into it, pulling the belt tight around his waist. He stood for a moment, looking out the window. He listened to Ethan breathing on the bed behind him and closed his eyes. "I missed you terribly, you know," he said, conversationally.

Ethan caught his hand, the one with the bruised knuckles, and kissed them. "Rupert," he sighed, "let's get the hell out of here."

***

There were almost endless advantages to being Rupert Giles's . . . whatever they were. Life partner, Ethan supposed, if he were forced to name it. The man was highly skilled in many areas, from fencing to French toast to fellatio. But the country estate - that was a definite perk. Even if it meant putting up with things like, well, nature. And animals. Especially that wretched horse Rupert was so attached to and which had developed an unfounded and instant dislike for Ethan. He'd come damn close to getting his healing ribs re-broken the one time he'd ventured into the stables. Rupert, damn him, had stroked the abominable creature's nose and said he was obviously an excellent judge of character.

Still, the house was enormous and the master bedroom a full suite, with a bed Ethan could happily spend all day in and had done, on occasion. Sadly, today would not seem to be one of those days, as Rupert had risen almost with the sun and gone out, undoubtedly to spend time with the horse. Ethan didn't mind too terribly much, as that meant he got to spread out and bury his face in sheets that smelled of Rupert and plot what he was going to do to him upon his return.

Post-shower, of course, horses being both odious and odorous. Ethan laughed silently to himself, not caring a whit that Rupert would not appreciate the pun. One must amuse oneself after all.

He had nearly drifted off again in a patch of sun on Rupert's side of the bed when the phone rang. He groaned and shoved his head under the pillows, but it only just kept on ringing. They never had got the answerphone working, so there was no hope at all of rescue. He sighed, sat up, and answered the bedside phone, an ancient contraption that Rupert refused to bin despite Ethan's repeated admonishments that telephones were not meant to be heirlooms. "Hello?"

"Giles?"

Oh bloody hell. The cheeky slayer. And the day had started out so promisingly. "No, sorry to disappoint. He's out at the moment."

"Oh."

Awkward silence. Very awkward. Ethan reveled in Buffy's long-distance discomfort for a few seconds, then decided to take pity on her. "And how are things on the hellmouth?"

"Er, hellmouthy. Do you think Giles will be back soon?"

A door slammed downstairs. "I think he is now, actually. Just a moment." Rupert was already on the stairs; Ethan could hear them creaking slightly, though it seemed he'd taken his boots off at the door. He came in and Ethan held out the phone with a heavy sigh, a grimace, and a roll of the eyes heavenward.

Rupert's brow furrowed as he took the phone. "Buffy?" He sat down on the edge of the bed, dirty, horsey jeans and all despite Ethan's scowl. "What? Sorry - Buffy. Slow down. Frankenstein? No, he was the scientist. The monster - oh. Oh dear." A long pause, while Rupert's frown deepened. "Good lord," he said periodically, until Ethan rolled over and put a pillow over his head so he wouldn't have to listen anymore. It muffled it, but not enough for him to miss Rupert saying, "Yes, yes, you're right, of course. No, think nothing of it. I'll call the airline and see how soon I can be there. Don't worry, we'll get it sorted. I'll let you know my itinerary. Yes. Yes, thank you." Then, in a softer tone altogether different from his previous business-like briskness, "Yes, me too. See you then."

A pause. Then the pillow was removed to reveal Rupert standing beside the bed, looking terribly rugged and handsome in jeans and his barncoat, his hair windblown and his face rather pink, smelling like fresh air and horse. "I suppose you heard all that."

"Despite my best efforts. What's the problem?"

"The Initiative appears to have, er, created a monster. Literally." Rupert removed his coat and slung it over the back of the armchair. "It has Buffy sufficiently concerned that she - she wants me to come back."

"Ah."

"Eth." Rupert sat down on the bed again. "You don't have to come with me. I - after what happened last time, I would understand entirely if you didn't."

"And what would it mean if I didn't?"

Rupert looked down at his hands. "Well, I suppose that is up to you. It has been a lovely couple of months."

It had been, at that. No hellmouth spewing things at them constantly. No slayer to compete with for Rupert's attentions. He'd pined much less for her than Ethan had feared, or at least he'd managed to keep it to himself if he had. And yet, Ethan had known this was inevitable. A furlough, nothing more. He was lucky it had lasted so long. Nine weeks.

Ethan sat up. "I suppose if you go it alone you'll make a great hash of it. Need someone around to do the big bang spells."

"Well, Willow -" Ethan gave him a look and Rupert backtracked with satisfying rapidity. "Quite right, of course. And I would miss you if you stayed."

Ethan heaved a sigh. "Well, then. The sacrifices I make for you, Rupert, no one knows."

Rupert broke into a smile, leaned down, and kissed him. "I do."

_Fin._


End file.
